


I Love You More Than Baked Goods

by extraordinary_fangrl



Series: Not So Little Moments [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Diabetes inducing, Domestic Fluff, Eleven | Jane Hopper and Mike Wheeler in Love, F/M, Future Fic, Heart Attack Warning, I fangirled HARD while writing this, I’m a 90s kid, Mike Wheeler Loves Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mileven, Not So Little Moments, Post-Canon, and I couldn’t help myself with the references, do not read this if you have heart problems, part 1 of Not So Little Moments, seriously, this is so fluffy guys I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extraordinary_fangrl/pseuds/extraordinary_fangrl
Summary: Eleven puts her baking skills to use and makes something special for her husband.





	I Love You More Than Baked Goods

**Author's Note:**

> How we feeling after S3? Good? Bad? Like your heart was ripped out of your chest and tossed into the garbage disposal? Me too. Hopefully this cures you're Stranger Things/Mileven depression. I know mine was temporarily soothed while writing this.
> 
> Before you dive right in, I'd like to warn you about the level of fluff. HEART ATTACK inducing fluff. Tread carefully.

**Bloomington, Indiana**

**September 14, 1996**

Eleven leaned into the cushions of the La-Z-Boy, sighing softly into her mug of herbal tea as she took a sip. Immediately, her insides warmed at the sensation and her face broke out into a pleasant smile as she soaked in every ounce of it: Happiness. 

She remembered feeling puzzled hearing the term for the first time. Hopper had given it to her during one of their famous “Word of the Day” activities, and she had a particularly difficult time understanding the meaning. She had trouble grasping most words upon hearing them for the first time, but this one was different. No matter how many times she studied how it was spelled or defined, she could never ** _truly _ **relate to it like everyone else.

Eleven had never experienced being happy at the lab. All she ever felt there was fear, pain, loneliness, and guilt for opening the gate. She never expected to feel anything else, even after she ran from Papa and his bad men. Then, somewhere along her fight for freedom, she met _ Mike_. A shy boy who gave her a home and his friendship. He showed her what it felt like to be **loved** for who she was. And ever since, she began developing a sense of what happiness meant to her. 

It was Hopper and his commitment to making sure she was always safe, like an overprotective father watching over his daughter. It was the Party and their comradery, which was the glue that kept her together both during and after her battles with the Mind Flayer. It was Mike Wheeler and his undying adoration for her, no matter how many times they were separated. It was-

A breathless giggle left Eleven’s lips as a round of fluttering kicks pulled her out of her reverie. Her free hand slid over her swollen middle and stopped to rest over her left side, just a few inches away from her belly button. 

“Hi, little one,” she muttered affectionately, rubbing at the spot with her fingers, kneading the taut skin through the faded pink wool of her flannel. 

_ Her happiness was this baby. This little light she created with Mike, the love of her life. _

The news of her pregnancy had rattled her at first, mainly because she believed she was infertile after all the experiments Brenner had subjected her to. In those first few months, there were days where she was more anxious than Mike, who had nearly fainted when she handed him the ultrasound pictures. There were nights she had nightmares of her baby being taken from her, just like she was stolen from her own mother. But there was also an indescribable warmth that enveloped her when she heard his heartbeat for the first time, or whenever she felt him move, which had been happening a lot lately since she hit twenty weeks. And even though she still had those moments of fear, she never let it affect how much she was looking forward to this new chapter. Mike, however, didn’t seem to see things from that perspective. 

Eleven didn’t doubt he loved the baby because he showed it in his actions. After getting over the shock, he had dived right into getting everything ready and reading up on what to expect. Before she knew it, the spare bedroom they had used as a storage space was flipped into a makeshift nursery. And he was ** _very _ **attentive to her needs, never holding it against her during her bouts of mood swings. Always willing to get up at the crack of dawn to fix a plate of her beloved waffles. But he was also nervous, and so stressed to the point where she was concerned he would overexert himself. 

Some of that weight came from the anxiety of becoming a first-time father. The rest, or at least the majority of it, came from his eagerness to make sure they would be taken care of. Mike had been working more in recent months than he did when he was still a student at MIT (which was surprising, considering all of the studying he did for his master’s degree) and she had moved out to live with him off campus for his two years in grad school. 

Once they had moved back to Indiana, they didn’t have much trouble affording their studio when it was just the two of them. Especially once she started working at a cozy bookstore deep within the city called Cover 2 Cover. Lately, however, she had started working fewer days in preparation for her maternity leave. Therefore, at least until she recovered from having the baby, he was the primary breadwinner. 

Eleven was gentle as she continued rubbing at the spots where she felt a kick. When they ceased, her hand flattened against her bump, and her gaze shot up to the entertainment center. Honey brown eyes latched onto the digital clock resting above the TV, watching the red numbers as time moved forward, leaving behind the hours of the morning. 

It was noon, so she knew Mike was taking his lunch break before he started his second shift at work. Once he left - which wouldn’t be until late in the afternoon - he would have about a forty-five minute drive home. So, she knew she had some time to figure out how she could take his mind off of the stress. 

As she began racking her brain for ideas, her gaze moved toward the shelf stashed between the sliding glass door at her left and the entertainment center. Several books lined the five rows, and she scanned through the first three before she found it.

She set aside her tea and - with great effort - hauled herself up from the recliner with a soft grunt. The hand that rested flat against her bump had lowered to support it underneath as she trudged along, her feet shuffling across the room. She reached the bookshelf about a minute later. Both of her arms immediately reached out to the fourth shelf, fingers grasping onto the pastel yellow spine as she pulled it out. 

The scrapbook settled in her grasp as she pulled it close with a rough exhale, bracing it against the top of her protruded stomach. She beamed, warm nostalgia blooming from her core as her gaze swept over the cover, eyes quickly reading over the fine cursive. This was an item that reminded her of all the moments in her life she never wanted to forget, but it was also a pact she made with her friends before she had to leave Hawkins. A promise to document those times when they were happy, sad, or just wanted to remember. 

Eleven had originally came up with the idea as a way for the rest of the Party to share the experiences she hadn’t been around for. Some were like that, with one or more of them wanting to capture whatever happened for themselves. But others were memories they were all fortunate enough to share together. Those didn’t happen as often as they liked, even after she had moved back. 

The book opened with a soft sigh, the pages rustling quietly as they split apart. They were divided unevenly, with the right stack of paper looking starkly bigger in comparison to the left. But Eleven’s focus wasn’t on the contrasting size of the sides. Instead, her attention was on the picture on the right, taped near one corner of the page. 

The little smile on her face reached her eyes, beaming as she found Mike. His expression brighter than hers, and a bit awkward as he faced the camera; white teeth glinting in a grin as he towered beside their kitchen island and over the large Rice Krispie cake. The exterior was smothered in chocolate frosting, and there were tiny candles scattered on top. 

Eleven recalled the day she took the picture months ago. It was Mike’s birthday, and they couldn’t afford to buy an actual cake like his parents used to do for him each year. So, since obtaining a knack for cooking, she decided to bake him a cake. But not a traditional one, with the typical white or chocolate cake batter. No, it was made out of homemade Rice Krispie treats. 

Mike had been ** _addicted _ ** to them ever since they became popular last year. She would always find the metallic blue rappers in his lunchbox after he came home from work and would watch him buy a box whenever they were at the grocery store. He loved eating them just as much as she loved eating her Eggo’s. Especially when she _ made _ them herself, which hadn’t happened since his last birthday… 

Suddenly, the lightbulb in her head lit up like the sun, and she closed her scrapbook with a soft clap before turning toward the kitchen. Her gaze found the trio of cabinets above the stove, but she focused on the one in the middle, her expression contorting in concentration. Seconds later, the small door swung open, exposing a stash of cereal to her line of sight. Particularly, a blue cardboard spine with the little elves she recognized as Snap, Crackle, and Pop.

** _Later that afternoon....._ **

“C’mon, you piece of shit door,” Mike grumbled with a grunt, fumbling as he twisted the key into the lock of the apartment door, the others on the ring jangling along. 

His head was craned forward as he struggled to open the door. Combined with his shadow masking the door, the dark curls hanging from his mop of hair only worsened his limited sight, adding to his sour mood. 

Mike’s day - hell - his entire ** _week_ ** was more intense than when he had first started at Andromeda Technologies: a rising company within the tech industry and the stepping stone in his career as a software engineer. There was a deadline he needed to meet next week and only a few days to polish up a prototype he had been working on for months. It was a software application that was supposed to protect computers from pesky viruses and combat against malware. He had no trouble writing it's code, or designing its user interface. Recreating the signatures, however, proved to be more difficult than he originally thought, especially with the limited resources he had to work with. 

He was passionate about his job, and he was fortunate enough to have a natural knack for anything relating to science or mathematics. But his love for El was his motivation to push through each obstacle, both in his career and in his life. He endured everything thrown his way because _she_ had the courage to do the same for nearly half her life. She was subjected to so much darkness before he had met her - and even afterward - that he was certain she deserved nothing but light for the rest of her lifetime. He promised he would help her see more of it when they tied the knot, and he planned on keeping that promise as long as he lived. 

Finally, Mike heard the sharp click of the door unlocking as he turned the key for what felt like the billionth time. A sigh left him through his nose as he readjusted his hold on the backpack over his shoulder. His grip on the handle tightened as he twisted it to the left, putting pressure on the door as it opened.

As he stepped inside, a familiar warm rush of air enveloped him, and he felt some of the tension in his back ease. He was swift in retrieving the key and closing the door before another breeze of cold, stale air infiltrated his home. 

Another exhale escaped him through his mouth as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers gravitating down the back of his neck. 

Mike took a moment to soak in more of his surroundings before he took another step into the apartment, shaking his head as he heard his wife belt out the chorus of the Spice Girls’ _ Wannabe. _Then he kicked off his sneakers, turned to the coat stand at his right, and shrugged off his bag before attaching its loop around one of the hooks. He was about to do the same with his jacket - his left arm already out of the sleeve - when an aroma hit him like a freight train, triggering his sense of smell as he sniffed the air. It was sweet, like the vanilla perfume El used. But there were also hints of milk chocolate, butter, and a sugary scent he could readily associate with marshmallows. 

“Rice Krispies?” He muttered to himself, squinting as he let his jacket slip from his shoulders, not caring when it fell to the floor. 

When he finally turned around, he found El in the middle of their kitchen, her back turned to him. She was dancing in front of the oven, her head bobbing up and down as her hips swayed to the rhythm. 

Mike took a few steps forward, his mind set on greeting her and closing the distance between them. However, as she turned toward the refrigerator, he could see the downward curve of her growing abdomen as it met the countertop. 

He froze in his tracks, feeling his heart flutter against his chest as he stared breathlessly. 

** _She was glowing_**.

Not as a result of the light fixtures screwed into the ceiling, even though they were on. No. El was a light all on her own, shining brighter than anything he had ever seen. She always was, but it became more apparent to him over the last handful of months. As her pregnancy progressed - and the slim belly he would kiss whenever they got intimate - swelled with their child. _ His _child.

“_If you wanna be my lover!_” El sang the last line of the song, her shoulder length waves bouncing dramatically as she whipped her head to the side.

The youthful glint in her gaze was instantly replaced with surprise as she turned fully, eyes widening when she noticed her husband's presence. 

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in,” she greeted shyly over the radio as it cut to a commercial break, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

He never failed to make her blush. Even after _ thirteen _ years. 

Her words brought Mike out of his reverie, and his lips curled into a smirk, “Yeah? I wonder why.”

The hues in El’s red cheeks only deepened in response. But she beamed as he walked around the marble countertop, and she met him in the middle of their kitchen. 

“Hi,” she said again, shooting up on the tips of her toes as she reached for him, sleeved arms hooking over his shoulders, pulling him closer until her bump touched his abdomen.

Mike didn’t say a thing as he bent down, pressing a tender kiss to her soft lips, his pale hands hugging her waist. Hearing a playful giggle against his mouth, he pulled away, his chocolate eyes opening to the sight of El staring up at him, her beautiful, honey irises observant underneath a pair of long eyelashes. 

“How was work?” She asked softly, brushing back the fluffy curls away from his forehead. 

“Good,” he replied, his long fingers rubbing gentle circles into her side, “Project Guadware is almost done. I uh, just need to run a few more tests, make sure most of the cracks are filled.” 

El hummed, her eyebrows coming together as she absentmindedly played with the curly strands guarding the nape of his neck. She knew the general description of Mike’s job, but - thanks to her late start in education - she still had trouble understanding the mathematical aspect of what he did. She had the basics of math locked down, but still struggled with the advanced stuff. Those grueling hours of studying it in high school gave her the ability to graduate and get her target SAT score but it also turned her off from wanting to pursue a career in that particular field.

Reading and writing, however, were the subjects she had the most interest in. Despite how difficult it was to understand both at first, she grew to appreciate them whenever she employed them for personal use. Like when she started her collection of romance novels or when she would write little notes to Mike and their friends. 

“I also have to ace the hell out of the presentation. Or else all my work will be for nothing. No pressure,” Mike added with a dry scoff. 

That pulled El out of her thoughts. She gave him a look, nodding as she held his gaze, “_You will_, Mike. I know it.”

He blinked, his expression unreadable for a few moments. Then, his mouth stretched into a teasing smile, “So… does our daughter have a craving for Rice Krispie treats? Or is it really my birthday, and I just dreamt us celebrating before today?”

She shot him a glare, but it held no heat as she fought a smile, feeling his hands slide over to the sides of her swollen middle. 

It was a game they had started playing early on in El’s second trimester, and she decided that she didn’t want to know their baby’s sex until the birth. Mike had followed her lead since he cared more about the baby’s health. But that didn’t stop him from thinking they were having a girl despite her counterclaims on them actually having a boy, often using her recent knowledge of mother’s intuition as a tool in their debates. 

“_Our _ ** _son_**,” El corrected, her non-threatening stare reduced to a pointed look as she heard him snort. “And yes, he likes them as much as Eggo’s. But I made these for you.”

Mike quirked up an eyebrow but allowed her to untangle from his embrace as she slid to the side and turned, with her hand meshing with his larger one as she lead him across their kitchen. 

They stopped to stand in front of the oven, and his gaze swept over the two cookie sheets full of decorated rice bars. A mix of chocolate and vanilla, with some coated in icing and sprinkles.

“Holy- El, you didn’t have to make all of these!” Mike observed after a few moments, gaping as he turned to her. “You know that I love your cooking, but I could have gotten another box on my way home. You didn’t have to worry.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, her own softening as she met his confused, dark irises. 

“You worry about us, Mike,” El uttered softly, laying a gentle hand on her bump. “I do too, but I worry more about you.”

He blinked, the curves of his lips descending into a frown as he let her continue. 

“You’re stressed, and I wanted to help. I needed to, because I promised I would when we got married,” she admitted with a shrug, like it was the simplest answer.

Mike was quiet for a few beats, taking an interest in their conjoined hands as he let her words sink in. Finally, he shook his head, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips.

“You don’t get it.”

El met his gaze again, her brows furrowed as she tilted her head, “What?”

He turned to her, facing her fully as the rough pad of his thumb caressed the smooth skin of the back of her hand. 

“Since the moment we met that night in the woods,” Mike began softly as he took hold of her other hand, glancing down at the golden band wrapped around her ring finger, “all you have ever done is ** _help _ **me, El.”

She froze, watching him unblinkingly as he pulled her closer, feeling the heat of his breath as he continued. 

“Even when we were fighting, and I was being a total mouthbreather,” he smiled, matching hers as it broke through her stunned expression. “Even when you’re just _ here _ with me, and not doing anything else, you help. **_You _ **make me better, and I could never thank you enough for it.” 

El blinked back the tears that began to form at his words, her hands slipping from his as she reached for his face, fingers brushing up against his stubble.

“I don’t want thanks when I have you,” she uttered, her words a soft whisper to Mike’s ears.

They captivated him on a level so high, he could barely focus enough to reciprocate El’s movements as she pulled him in, her lips warm against his. He kissed her deeper, more fervently than before as he found her waist again. Though he was mindful of their baby, making sure his grip wasn’t too tight as his arms cocooned around her midsection, his hands meeting at the small of her back. 

Time slowed down for Mike as the minutes passed, and all he could focus on was El. He didn’t care that they were cutting it close to the time they usually partook in a “sitcom binge”, settling down with a meal as she caught him up on _Boy_ _Meets World_ or _Friends. _He didn’t pay attention to the radio as the first few lyrics of _Every Breath You Take _filled his ears, even though it was one of their songs. He couldn’t care about those things because he was too enraptured with the woman in his arms.

Just like he had been on that life-changing night of **November 7, 1983**.

**Author's Note:**

> Good, you survived. Because this is just a stepping stone in what I have planned for the "Not So Little Moments" series. Stay tuned, and don't hesitate to let me know what you thought. And whether or not I made a complete mess out of Mike and El's characterization.
> 
> Also, for future reference (specifically for this and future 1996 chapters) I made a little fancast for The Party:
> 
> Mike Wheeler - Ezra Miller OR Adam Brody
> 
> Eleven/Jane Hopper - Natalie Portman
> 
> Max Mayfield - Scarlett Johansson 
> 
> Lucas Sinclair - Michael B. Jordan
> 
> Dustin Henderson - Jonah Hill, Jake Gyllenhaal, or Shia LaBeouf
> 
> Will Byers - Leonardo DiCaprio or Tom Hiddleston


End file.
